Green Eyes
by Rebellious Princess
Summary: Set after the final battle with Voldemort. Ron and Hermione did not survive the Horcrux missions, and Harry is withdrawn and alone in the Black house. Ginny is pregnant but who's the father? What did George do to make his family disown him? And more...
1. Stag

_My name is Stag. Many years ago I went by the name of Harry Potter. But Harry Potter is no more. When Albus died, and Hogwarts shut down, my whole world came tumbling down around me, suffocating me in a wave of broken hopes and unfulfilled dreams. One thing eased this pain - murdering Voldemort. He, the Dark Lord, the one evil Wizard. I killed him, in the end … and I am proud._

_As I have grown I have learnt that the more you love someone, the more likely they are to be stolen from you. Everyone I have ever gotten close to has been killed before my eyes. I have suffered years of pain and agony for each one of them, and will continue to do so._

_Ron "The Weasel" Weasley, as he became known in his later years. My comrade, my partner in crime, my best friend. After the completion of a Horcrux mission, he was swallowed by the earth, never to return. For months I believed he would come back to me. But I knew, deep down inside, that he would be just like the rest. Gone forever._

_Hermione Granger. Sweet Hermione. The busybody who was far too intelligent for her own good. She deserved nothing that happened to her. There are terribly frightening things in this world which a young woman should not see. In her short life, Hermione saw many of these. And it was all because of me. She didn't have to reach out to grab that Horcrux. I would have done it, Hermione. I would have done it._

_Deserted. Betrayed. Abandoned. Lost. I feel these things each day. Each puff of smoke from a cigarette fills my lungs with toxic gas. I casually blow it back out into the air of the cruel world. I know it will kill me. I know. But the smoke is bliss. A life force that I can suck from such an innocent-looking white stick. The liquor feels like liquid gold, running down my scarred throat. Oh yes, I have the scars. Each slit is the proof that one more person in this wretched world wants me dead. There are nine._

_I know the drink will kill me, if the smoke doesn't get there first. The fun part is, which will it be? Heart, lungs, liver? I play this deadly Russian roulette with my body daily as I muse over my thoughts, alone in this house. The house of Black. Considering this, I take a glance in a nearby mirror. It is completely coated in dust. I smooth away the dirt with the sleeve of my robe and gaze upon my reflection. At least, I try and make out as much of myself as I can._

_Defeating Voldemort came with a price. The weakness, yes, I knew it would happen. That was obvious; I had destroyed a part of myself, after all. Half of me no longer exists. What I did not expect was the loss of sight in both my eyes. My eyes that once shone green with childlike naivety and curiousness. No more. From what little I can tell, they are black. Black as the depths of space, black as the thickest night, black as the name of this house. Why this happened, I am not sure. As I rose my wand for that final blow, the strike that I will remember for the rest of my days … a bright green light, and nothing more._

_I try to get myself in focus. It is difficult with eyes as broken as abused as mine. I remind myself of someone. The younger version of someone who once lived in this old house. Sirius Black. A young Sirius Black. It's the hair. God, it's like staring at a photo of him._

_The veil. The curtain. Whichever … that harmless seeming flap of material was the death of my Godfather. And so young … I was so young when it happened. Too young. Now that I look back, that was the turning point. That was when it all began to go wrong for Harry James Potter._


	2. Walk of Death

"Fucks sake, George. Can't you even walk in a straight line?"

The slightly older (by about two minutes) Weasley twin shuffled himself further against the wall. He kept one arm on the natural bumpy surface, and the other clutched around his stomach. Fresh vomit from his own digestive system lay in a pool around his feet.

"Help me," he groaned, pleading achingly to his twin. "Please."

Fred Weasley marched over to the interior wall of the cave. He tried not to look too concerned for his brother, but failed miserably. And he had been doing such a good job of it, to. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his robes.

"It's getting worse," Fred noticed, stating this fact bluntly to sound as uncaring as he could manage. "Isn't it?"

George nodded his head up and down slowly in silent pain. He had been biting his bottom lip so much to keep himself from crying out, that blood now poured freely from his lip and down onto his chin. Fred hoisted George's arm up and around his shoulder, putting his free arm around the twin's waist.

"C'mon, brother," he sighed, looking ahead into the darkness of the mysterious cave. "Off we go."

George Weasley had been cursed. By whom, he was not quite sure. It had happened, someday, somehow … terribly, one of the symptoms he had been given was memory loss. This came hand-in-hand with crippling stomach pains, vomiting, bleeding and general dizziness. He was tired all the time, the colour had drained from his face so much that you could no longer even see the trademark Weasley freckles, and slowly but surely, his whole body was decaying and slowing down. George Weasley was dying.

Fred Weasley should have been distraught. He should have been crying at his brother's bedside, using each hour of each day to find the cure, or to find who did this to his identical twin. But, he wasn't. Because Fred knew George's secret. And it was a secret that could destroy the Weasley family forever. But George didn't know that Fred knew. What with the constant passing out and wooziness, George was often disorientated. He seemed better today though, as the pair descended into the dark cave.

"So, where is it?" Fred snapped. George's head lolled on his chest and bobbed with Fred's movements. But George didn't reply, didn't even move.

"George," Fred sighed with exasperation, shuffling about so he could grab his twin under the arms and lift him up to eye level. "George!"

Still George said nothing, and his head fell back, eyes encrusted with an unusually glowing fluid, eyelids caked down to his face. His mouth gaped open and his tongue hung out, his breath smelling rotten. Fred reeled back in shock. Had George passed out … or was he…?

"George!" Fred called out, desperate now, shaking his twin's shoulders. "GEORGE!"

George still didn't reply, and he suddenly felt heavy now, his entire body weight resting on Fred's wrists. He had a sudden feeling of something pushing down on his brother, pressure on his shoulders. Almost as if there was a supernatural force that was trying to push George down into the ground. Trying to bury him.

Fred yelped in panic and yanked hard on George's robes, tugging the younger twin back out towards the entrance. George's dirty shoes got even filthier as they were dragged in the dirt of the floor of the cave, through puddles and getting caught on sharp rocks. Much to Fred's relief, George began to groan. In pain or in confusion, he wasn't quite sure, but at least it meant that he wasn't…

Fred gulped. He couldn't even bear to think about it. George carried on groaning, appearing as if he wanted to say something. He even conjured up the strength to lift up an arm and tug at Fred's robes.

"A minute, George, just one minute," Fred promised. "First, I'm going to get you out of here."

George mumbled something incoherent in reply, and Fred carried on, striding urgently through the dirt. He thought he was in heaven when they turned a corner and the blissful sunshine greeted them at the other end. There it was, the exit. They had spent hours getting up here and making their way into the maze of a cave, but no matter that it was wasted. Fred wanted George better, and he wanted him better now.

Outside, the sunlight streamed down on the two, instantly making them feel safer. Fred knelt down on the ground, resting George's head in his lap. He smoothed his hand over George's eyes, loosening his eyelids, and releasing him of the pain. George suddenly spluttered, coughing up blood. He was trying his hardest to talk.

"What is it, George?" Fred asked urgently. "You need to tell me. What is it?"

George croaked, "Harry. Get Harry. Now."


	3. Inside Azkaban

**2 months ago…**

Draco Malfoy was frowning. Frowning so hard that his entire face looked like it could crack and split in two. His shoulders were hunched and he sat on the cold floor with his back to the wall and his backside freezing. A lock of white blond hair stuck to his forehead in a cold sweat. There was a rhythmic clanging noise coming from the next cell, sounding as if someone was drumming their fingers or scraping something against a metal surface. It had been going on for at least fifteen minutes now. The man in the next cell drummed and clanged and clattered away until Draco thought his brains might pop.

"Stop it," he whispered, massaging his temples. He raised his voice. "Stop it."

Clang, clang, clang, clang.

"Stop it," Draco whined, clutching at his ears, digging his fingernails into his skin and splitting the delicate flesh. "Stop it!"

Clang, clang, clang, clang.

"Stop it!"

Clang, clang, clang, clang.

That was it – Draco snapped and leapt to his feet, whirled round and threw his entire body weight against his cell wall.

"SEVERUS, STOP THAT RACKET THIS INSTANT, YOU ODIOUS MAN!" Draco exploded, banging his curled fists against the wall.

Sure enough, the clanging trailed off to a distant patter before stopping completely and leaving only blissful silence. Draco sighed with happy relief and smoothed his hands through his hair, just as he could hear the beginnings of mumbled ramblings from the man. An old man, a deranged man. A once proud, intelligent man, brought down to a gibbering wreck by the prison called Azkaban. Severus Snape, once Draco Malfoy's teacher and eventful ally in the Dark Arts. Nowadays, all Severus was to Draco was an annoyance.

Unfortunately, the two Dementors standing guard outside Draco's high-security cell didn't take too kindly to the young man's outburst. One turned slowly and glared at him from underneath its hood. Though the creature had no eyes, Draco could feel it staring right at him, burning its piercing gaze into his skull. Draco whimpered and turned away, backing himself into the corner of his cell.

_I've got to get out of here,_ Draco thought desperately. _I've got to get out of here. I've got to get out of here._

He wasn't going to end up like Snape, mad in his cell. Draco had only been here just under a year, and there was still time. Still plenty of time before the effects of Azkaban warped his quick young mind. But how? _How?_ There were very few people who had escaped Azkaban at all, let alone from a high security cell with two particularly gruesome Dementors constantly standing guard.

"I'll do it," Draco said in a hushed voice to himself. "I'll get out of here. And as soon as I do, I'm coming for you … _Harry Potter_."

* * *

Harry awoke with a start, his body giving an involuntary twitch that jolted him into consciousness. He groaned, frustrated to be awake as he realized that he'd only managed to sleep for two short hours. He pulled himself into an upright sitting position on his bed, and removed the sheet of newspaper that had stuck itself to the side of his face with sweat. Getting to his feet, he plodded across the room towards an extremely cluttered desk, and proceeded to look for his cigarettes. When he reached out his hands, the first thing he touched was something soft and fluffy. The cat hissed sharply at him before leaping off the desk and onto the floor.

"Stupid bloody thing," Harry muttered of the stray that had moved itself into the Black household and didn't seem to want to leave. Harry rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, allowing him to get a slightly clearer look at the desk.

"There you are," he grinned triumphantly as he scooped up the box of toxic refreshments. Now he just had to find his lighter. He patted his jacket and his trousers, searched in all his pockets, but to no positive result. He did, however, feel the poke of his wand jutting out from inside his jacket. He pulled it out and although he couldn't quite see it, he could feel the green glow that his wand continued to emit, all these months after destroying Voldemort. He had at first wondered why the wand had done it. Then he wondered if the glow was doing him any harm, and if it was safe to still use the wand. Then he realized that he didn't really care.

"_Incendio_," Harry rasped, pointing the tip of his wand at the end of the cigarette. It lit and he happily puffed away on it, tossing his wand to the floor carelessly. Of course, he would get frustrated when he couldn't find it later on, but it was just one of many bad habits that Harry had picked up and couldn't seem to get rid of.

There was a hurried knock at the front door downstairs. Once upon a time, this would have surprised Harry, since the Black house was under a magic barrier, and couldn't be approached or even seen by anyone who didn't know it was there. Now however, the barrier appeared to be fading away. Harry wasn't sure, but he think it began to deteriorate just after Sirius died.

Thinking about Sirius stung, and although Harry wasn't particularly interested to see who was visiting (probably one of those annoying Muggle salesmen, as usual), he shuffled his way to the stairs before slowly making his way down them. It was a great effort, and whoever it was at the door kept banging and knocking with great urgency.

"Alright!" Harry growled as he eventually reached the door. After opening it, he took a few moments to focus his eyes on the figure at the door. He could just make out a gangly young man clutching at what appeared to be an identical figure in his arms.

"Harry," a voice breathed slowly. Harry recognized the voice. But no, it was impossible. It couldn't be…

"Ron?" Harry wheezed, stunned beyond belief. The figure in the doorway shifted about uncomfortably.

"Uh, no," it said slowly. "No, it's Fred."

Harry paused before slamming the door in Fred Weasley's face, and immediately scolding himself for being so foolish. _Ron is dead. Ron is dead. He's not exactly going to turn up on your doorstep, is he? Idiot._

"Harry!" Fred called out from behind the door, his voice muffled through the rotting wood. "Harry, please. George has been cursed, he's dying. He needs your help, Harry."

"I don't go by that name anymore," Harry replied bluntly.

"Stop that nonsense," Fred snapped angrily. "Let us in, Harry."

"Why should I?" Harry scoffed loudly, resting against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. "George deserves death, for what he did."

Harry thought he could her a sorry groan from behind the door, and it wasn't Fred.

"How can you say that!" Fred retorted angrily, then sighed. "Look, open this door."

"No," Harry refused bluntly, and made to move away. But what Fred said next stopped him.

"I have news from Ginny," Fred blurted quickly, as if he had only just remembered. Harry's heart thumped against his ribcage and he froze in the hallway. His hand hovered over the doorknob. _What if Fred's lying?_ Harry drew his hand back. _Then again … what if he isn't?_

The burning feeling of wanting to know Ginny's news pushed Harry to finally open the door again. Fred let out a sigh of relief.

"Okay, I'll hear you out," Harry grunted, moving aside to let the twins enter the house. "But I don't promise to help."


	4. Green

"Aren't you going to thank me?" Harry asked sarcastically, hands in his pockets as he led Fred down the corridor and into a room which was probably a lounge. It had been so long since Harry had tidied up or cleaned anything, that all the rooms in the Black house were beginning to look the same.

Fred nervously eyed the sheet pinned up on the wall that appeared to be covering something. He knew what was under there – the portrait of Sirius Black's mother. Crazed, manic, stuck in the form of a painting. Fred fleetingly wondered what Sirius' mother thought of Harry now living in the house, but decided it would be better to not voice this comment. Instead he answered Harry's question.

"I'll thank you as soon as George is better," Fred grunted as he shuffled his sick twin into the room. Harry put out his arm and in one movement cleared the dirty, blackened sofa of all the rubbish and clutter that was on it. Fred raised an eyebrow and placed George down on it, resting his head on a pile of cushions. Fred knelt down beside his brother and glanced around the room.

"This place is a tip, Harry," Fred remarked, crinkling up his nose. Harry chose to ignore this remark and readjusted his glasses, the pair which would enable him to have at least half of his vision. He didn't wear them all the time – usually because he couldn't find them, since they were always buried under a pile of junk – but for what he was about to do, Harry would need to be able to see.

"Who cursed him?" Harry asked casually, doctor-like, but not sounding the slightest bit concerned.

"We don't know," Fred admitted quietly, fondly brushing George's fringe from out of his face. George's skin was still pale and sweaty, blotched red in places. He was passed out, but trembling all over.

"Well, what is it?" Harry continued, pressing the issue as he just observed, arms crossed over his chest.

"We don't know," Fred repeated slowly, becoming annoyed and exasperated.

"But you must have some idea of-" Harry tried, but Fred suddenly leapt to his feet and interrupted the younger man.

"Look, we don't know what it is, we don't know who did it, we don't know why they did it, alright!" Fred shouted.

"Okay, okay," Harry said defensively, raising his palms. Fred sighed and sank back down onto the floor, turning his head to look at his twin brother, who was passed out on the sofa. "I'm at my wits end. I have to save him."

Harry raised an eyebrow at this statement. "You've remained surprisingly loyal to him, considering."

"A brother for a brother," Fred breathed slowly, looking close to tears. "I've spent most of my life with six siblings, Harry. Now it's getting close to only three."

"Alright," Harry said quietly after a short thoughtful pause, and he too knelt down by George's side. "I'll do my best."

He adjusted his glasses one more time and then spread his hands out over George's chest. The buttons of George's shirt slowly began to undo themselves as tiny green sparks played at Harry's fingertips. Fred watched in awe as pure magic surged around Harry's palms, flowing through his fingers and out of the tips, where the green stream washed into George's skin and pulsed through his veins. The ill Weasley twin gave a sudden gasp of life, sucking in the air as though he had just been underwater, and he bolted upright. Then, just as suddenly, he collapsed back down and fell unconscious.

"Harry!" Fred gasped desperately, clutching at his brother. Harry straightened his glasses.

"Don't worry," he told Fred. "He'll be out for a little while yet. But he's healthy. Look."

Harry leant in closer to George's face and gestured to Fred to do the same. The skin was peachy pink; the freckles clear on his cheeks. Harry gently pinched at one of George's eyelids and pushed it upwards, exposing his eyeballs. His eyes were clear, shiny, and -

"_Green_," Fred breathed in barely a whisper. "His eyes…George's eyes have…"

"Gone green, yes," Harry finished simply, getting to his feet and pacing the room slowly. "But a small price to pay, don't you reckon?"

"But why…?" Fred asked, but he was met with only a shrug. Like his blindness, like his glowing green wand, it was just one of many things that Harry could not explain.

Fred laughed with relief and clutched at his twin brother's quiet form, hugging him tightly.

Harry sadly lifted up a finger to his owl Hedwig's claw as she sat atop her perch, placed high on a bookcase. Seeming to notice the sudden gloomy expression on his face, she hooted slowly and fondly nudged his knuckles with her break. Harry sighed and tried to give her a small smile.

It was ironic, really. In destroying Voldemort, Harry had also destroyed a half of himself – his soul, his being – and became ill, a long-term illness which would surely kill him eventually. Strangely enough, it was at the same time that Harry had gained this sudden power to be able to help people, cure them, with only a simple touch. He didn't know how or why it worked, but it did, and he had only found out by accident when Hedwig had come crashing through a window one night and snapped her fragile wing. Gently scooping her up to tend to his pet, Harry watched (as best he could) in awe, as green magic flew from his very hands and fixed Hedwig's wing in seconds.

News of Harry's ability traveled fast, and it wasn't long before The Boy Who Lived became The Messiah, The Savior – yet another reason why Harry was so withdrawn and lonely as he was. He refused to help people. No more. He'd done enough life saving, enough superheroing to last him a lifetime, thanks very much. The Dark Lord was gone, that should have been enough for them.

Harry supposed that above all, he was bitter. Bitter that he could cure anyone he chose – everyone but himself.

"I can't thank you enough, Harry," Fred breathed, and Harry turned back to see Fred clutching at George's hand and rubbing his shoulder.

"Ginny's news," Harry said bluntly. "Then you can leave."

Fred looked down at his feet then stood up, ready to leave, scooping George up in his arms as he did so.

"I suppose it's not much to you, really," Fred explained as he pulled on his scarf. "But she asked I tell you."

"Yes?" Harry prompted, wishing Fred would just get to the point, as Harry could feel that beating feeling against his chest again.

"Ginny's pregnant."

Harry's heart stopped dead so suddenly, he almost reached to clutch at his chest. A lump rose into his throat, along with a question.

"Is it…" he began, but his voice came out a rasp, then a squeak, and Fred noticed his difficulty.

"What? _Yours_?" Fred snapped with some disgust. Harry felt his head bobbing itself up and down - _yes_.

"Don't make me laugh," Fred scoffed. "Not even you're that dim, Harry. As I recall, the last time you saw her was about 18 months ago. Do you remember? Right after you broke her heart."

This stung slightly, but Harry didn't let it show. "But then who-"

"That's not my place to say," Fred cut him off. "You can find that out for yourself."

Harry slowly followed the Weasley twin to the doorway. "So … I guess this makes us even."

"Yes," Fred agreed over his shoulder. "No more favours. Go and see Ginny."

"I will," Harry nodded firmly, and his eyes glanced over at George's now healthy – but unconscious - form. "And maybe now you can find out the truth, Fred."

"Yes," Fred agreed slowly, looking at his brother also. "The truth."

Harry gazed upon George's body as Fred spoke. Had he done the right thing? _"The truth, the truth…"_ Fred kept repeating, as he plodded down the driveway…

"_The truth about why George killed Percy."_


	5. Reunited

**1 month ago…**

_Clang, clang, clang._

There it was again, that persistent clinking of Severus Snape rasping his long, unkempt nails against the wall of his Azkaban cell. Only this time, Draco Malfoy noted, it was paired with the sickening noises of a chilling wind, icy breath, and cracking bones; fingers being stretched out on a skeletal hand. Draco didn't know what the Dementors were doing to Snape. He didn't _want_ to know. He could imagine it well enough, should he so desire.

The young blond-haired man was propped up against the far corner of his cell, as usual, hands clamped tightly over his ears to deafen out the attack, and blue eyes scrunched up tight. This was all an act, however. He was actually feeling relatively calm and, in his mind, was going over his escape plan one final time. It had been done before, and Draco was confident enough in himself and his Animagi skills to feel that he could do it, too…

The two Dementors guarding Draco's cell stood as they always did, backs to the prisoner and standing stock still. They hovered mysteriously above the cold stone floor, their long black cloaks flickering in an unseen, smoky wind. Draco backed further more into the shadows of his cell and very slowly, very quietly, began to change his form.

_It's the Kiss for me if I get caught,_ Draco thought to himself as he felt himself growing smaller in size. Soft, short fur, the same colour as his white-blond hair, began poking its way out from underneath his skin. His fingers shortened and claws adorned what were once his fingertips. He felt his ears lengthen and grow into a soft point, and suddenly his hearing became ten times stronger. Whiskers sprouted from the side of his nose which now stuck out way in front of his eyes. His blue eyes glistened and he could see everything much clearer than before.

_Not that I'm going to get caught_, he reminded himself smugly as he trotted out of the shadows and into the light in his new form. He padded his way quietly across the cool floor and took one last glance at the two oblivious, blind Dementors, before hopping through the tiny gap in the bars.

* * *

Harry tried to look at himself in the mirror, but from what he could make out of his face, he only saw Sirius Black's features staring right back at him. Frustrated and upset, he flipped the mirror over so quickly that it almost smashed. Swearing loudly, scolding himself, he then picked up the mirror and moved it to a safe spot, out of the way atop a rotting wooden wardrobe. The mirror that he possessed, probably the only one in the house – and definitely the only one in the house that was clean enough to see in – was the mirror that Sirius had given Harry. The one Sirius had given Harry before he died. The one that would have allowed them to communicate at any time they liked, no matter how far apart they were.

Though Harry would never admit it to anyone, he would still sometimes talk out loud to the mirror, asking to see Sirius. Pleading and begging with it, until he became frustrated and had to hide it as to stop himself from going completely mad.

Harry fumbled about for a comb and when he found one, tried to run it through his tangled hair, but gave up when a pixie flew out of nowhere, mischievously snatching it from his grasp with a high-pitched giggle. Harry frowned and decided that Ginny would just have to accept that he looked a complete mess. He would blame it all on the pixie.

Maybe Fred was right, this house was a complete tip…at least if Harry got to cleaning it, it would be more like a house than a beast sanctuary.

"Never mind about that," Harry told himself reassuringly, patting about for his wand. "More important things to do."

The last Harry heard about Ginny was that she lived alone, in a flat above a row of small muggle shops and takeaway restuarants, not too far from Diagon Alley. She worked part-time in the pet shop there, so it was convenient for her.

Harry shook out his arms and legs, ready to apparate. As he swung his wand and a green glow filled his partially-sighted eyes, he wondered again briefly whether he should be worried about the strange light or not, but before he could consider it further, he was off in a pop.

* * *

Red-haired and freckle-cheeked Ginny Weasley was in her kitchen, sat on a stool and resting her delicate body. In one hand she held her wand, and was swirling it around slowly in a circular motion above a mug of tea, using magic to stir it. She used the other hand to gently massage her swollen stomach, in much the same circular motion.

Ginny smiled proudly, glancing down at her bump. Inside there was a baby, a little Ginny Weasley, a tiny version of herself. Thinking about this gave Ginny a tingle of excitement – she was very much looking forward to being a mother. She could see that she and her baby were both going to be very happy.

For such a talented witch, it was a rather simple life in comparison she had crafted for herself. Sure, she could have been an auror, she could have been an Animagus, she could have worked for the ministry, become a teacher, whatever. Ginny had been ambitious at more than one point in her life – but recent grief and family troubles meant that this is the route she had taken. She didn't mind. She had her health, and now a baby, too – and that was enough.

Taking her cup of tea and making her way gently into the lounge, Ginny was extremely surprised when a tall, dark male figure popped itself into the room from out of nowhere. She yelped in surprise and dropped the mug, smashing it on the carpet and spilling boiling hot water across her feet and legs.

The male figure swept his thick fringe from his eyes and exposed his eyes, and Ginny saw that it was Harry.

"Oh, Ginny! I'm so sorry!" he blurted and rushed forwards, scrambling to pick up the broken china and mop up the spillage with his robes.

"I-It's alright," Ginny said quickly, unintentionally feeling uncomfortable to have someone so close to her stomach. She felt ashamed and scuttled off into the kitchen to get her wand. When she came back, however, Harry was already using his own wand to clear the carpet. She gazed upon him, the man she had loved, the one she hadn't seen or even heard from for over a year.

"Harry, you're so…" Ginny breathed, stepping forward, "…_Different_."

No wonder Ginny didn't instantly recognize Harry when he appeared in the room. His hair had always been messy, but now it was a tangled mop upon his head. His eyes were black, barely showing any of the green they had once been, and appeared to be constantly glazed over. His robes were ripped, torn and absolutely filthy, and appeared to be the ones he had worn during the final battle with Voldemort, all those months ago.

"Speak for yourself," Harry chuckled lightly, forgetfully gesturing his wand at Ginny's stomach. She looked shocked and protectively covered her belly with her hands.

"Sorry, sorry," Harry stuttered clumsily, nodding his head at his wand. "Didn't mean, to, ah…sorry."

Harry's sentence trailed off and he shrugged, looking sheepish. Ginny closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Don't worry about it," she smiled sweetly. "C'mon, sit down."

Harry took a place awkwardly on the edge of a clean, cozy sofa, resting his back against a fluffy throw. He looked briefly around the room. There were paintings, handmade trinkets, knitted cushions and covers – perhaps made by Molly Weasley? – and photographs of family and friends everywhere. Harry wondered why he couldn't see one of himself, but Ginny spoke and snapped him out of his daze.

"What brings you here then, Harry?" Ginny asked, and only then did he realize that she had sat herself down beside him. He turned to look at her.

"Your twin brothers paid me a short visit," Harry explained after a pause. Didn't Ginny know?

"Fred and George," Ginny whispered to herself, reaching up to smooth a lock of red hair back behind an ear. "I haven't seen them for a few months. How was George? Is he…?"

"Better," Harry nodded, feeling pleased with himself. "I, uh, cured him."

"Oh yes," Ginny smiled, her eyes twinkling all of a sudden. She reached for Harry's fingers and lightly scooped up his large, marked hand in her own dainty, light one. "I've heard about it. The healing touc."

Harry pulled his hand away a little too quickly, feeling uncomfortable to have Ginny touching him so suddenly after all this time. Her hand was so soft, so tiny and gentle, so warm…but it just didn't feel right somehow.

"Sorry," he blushed, distractedly smoothing down his robes and avoiding Ginny's gaze. "I wouldn't say I'm any kind of Saviour. I haven't really learnt how to control it yet. Besides, I'm not at all keen of all the attention it's brought."

"Of course," Ginny nodded understandingly. "I can imagine. Thank you, Harry. You didn't need to help George, not after he…"

Ginny's voice faltered and she trailed off, peering sadly down into her lap. She took a few moments to rub her stomach and wiped away the tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes.

"Hey, shh," Harry said softly, wondering if a caring arm around Ginny's shoulders would be appropriate or not – but before he could move she had collected herself and offered him a sad smile.

"I'm alright," she told him, clutching at a tissue she had reached for from a shelf. "I've mourned Percy. Now I'm looking forward to the future."

She looked down at her lap again, and smoothed a hand gently over her baby bump. Harry gulped.

"You're going to be a mother, Ginny," he said, as sincerely as he could manage. "I'm happy for you. Who, uh…"

"You don't know him," Ginny said quickly, almost snapping. Her bluntness stopped Harry from pushing the issue any further.

"Sorry," he whispered. Ginny didn't reply and slowly got to her feet, walking over to a small nearby window that looked out onto an alleyway.

"I just want you to know, Ginny," Harry continued, though she had her back to him, "That I really did break up with you because I wanted you to be safe. When we went out looking for the Horcruxes, I knew it would be dangerous. But deep down, I didn't think I'd lose Hermione. I didn't think I'd lose Ron. But I did. I lost them both. I already don't think I could ever forgive myself. What would I have done if I'd lost you, Ginny?"

Thinking about this was difficult for Harry, and he rested his forehead into his palm. When Ginny didn't reply for almost a whole minute, Harry became suspicious. He looked over his shoulder and tried to focus on her, hoping that he hadn't made her cry by bringing up the past.

"Ginny?"

Ginny apparently hadn't been listening, and instead she was frowning at something outside, perching on the narrow windowsill. She stared intently at it, whilst simultaneously stroking her pregnant belly, with the other hand pressed against the glass of the window.

"That's funny," she murmured. "I've never seen a cat behave so oddly."

Harry scowled. Why was Ginny wasting her time watching some stupid cat when here he was, opening his heart to her, trying to make a sincere, long overdue apology? But Harry let it go, and stood up, joining Ginny by the window.

"Look," Ginny instructed him, gesturing with a finger to the cat outside. Harry didn't have to focus his eyes much to see it – it was sitting on the ledge outside, staring in at them intently. It was almost as if the cat knew who Harry and Ginny were; knew their past, knew their story, knew what they were talking about. A wave of familiarity washed over Harry.

"Hey!" he exclaimed in surprise. "That's the stray that's been living in my house!"

"Are you sure, Harry?" Ginny raised an eyebrow. "How on earth did it get here?"

"Must have followed me. I mean, perhaps it was near me when I apparated," Harry murmured, deep in thought, his mind ticking over. "Anyway, what's so weird about it? It's just a dumb cat."

Ginny scratched the back of her neck slowly. "Look at its eyes. They're so cold. So unusually blue for a feline. And its fur, Harry…that cat's fur is _blond_."

* * *

**RP says:** Have you guessed it yet! big grin  
_R&R if you're enjoying this story, please:)_


	6. Beyond The Veil

The werewolf and ex-Hogwarts teacher known as Remus Lupin stepped quietly deeper into the old, abandoned Ministry of Magic building. Flanking him came the smaller, feminine figure of Nymphadora Tonks, hair in a dark shade similar to that of her robes, should she need to be camouflaged. Both had their wands out and were ready to defend themselves against any sudden, unexpected attack – although it wasn't likely in this dump of a building.

The ceiling of the main chamber had once been a beautiful shade of peacock blue, now it was practically black from all the dust and dirt. The polished, dark wood floors had rotted away, and in some places there were huge gaps where the fragile wood had given way. The fireplaces were filled and inaccessible, and where witches and wizards used to hurriedly scoot about, there was no one. Silence.

"This is ridiculous," Tonks grunted quietly as they made their way past the once proud fountain which contained a statue in the middle. Now the fountain was dry, and the statue was dull and rusty. The house elf of the statue had lots its thin toes and fingers, and the beautiful witch no longer had a head. Tonks raised her eyebrows at it and gulped, hurrying after Remus and clutching onto the back of his robes.

"Not just ridiculous," she continued breathlessly, while trying to hide her fear. "Reckless, too."

The duo had barely gotten the telephone box working to even enter the old, unused building, and despite herself, Tonks had been all but ready to give up at the first hurdle. But Lupin insisted, so here they were, heading for the Department of Mysteries. Sirius Black's final resting place…

Lupin looked over his shoulder at the short woman and grinned at her, despite the circumstances. "You're very welcome to turn back and go home any time, Nymphadora."

"Don't call me that!" Tonks pouted immediately, hurrying after him once more as he speeded up his pace, eager to get to their destination. "I hate it when you call me that."

"Very well, Nymphadora," Lupin continued cheekily. "But, seriously, just so you know … I don't mind, if you want to head home. Or be a lookout."

"Remus, you're my husband," Tonks said proudly, then took a moment to roll her eyes and finished jokingly, "Unfortunately. If I don't keep an eye on you, who will?"

Lupin chuckled and led Tonks into the circular room which was the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. Suddenly, turning back didn't seem such a bad idea … but no, Lupin came here for a reason. Besides, he had been here once before. He knew the way in … it wasn't so difficult…

Remus and Tonks carried on in silence as Remus chose the correct doors, strode past the benches, down into the sunken pit where a fierce battle had taken place many years ago, and finally they reached it. The veil.

"Lookout sounds good right about now," Tonks commented meekly, gazing up at the large, eerie structure.

The tall, beautiful archway hung in mid-air, completely unsupported, nothing surrounding it. The tattered black curtain flapped in a nonexistent breeze. Remus reached out for the veil, then paused and seemed to hesitate, withdrawing his hand. He could hear voices, swirling about on the other side of the thin material. Echoing in his mind he could hear the words he had spoken years before, in this exact spot…

"_There's nothing you can do, Harry-"_

"_Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"_

"_-it's too late, Harry."_

"_We can still reach him-"_

"_There's nothing you can do, Harry … nothing … he's gone."_

Lupin became lost in his memories, feeling weak and faint, like he could just topple forwards onto the veil with the slightest push. He suddenly felt Tonks' palm hit his shoulder and he took in a sharp breath.

"Sure you want to do this?" his caring wife asked of him quietly, looking concerned. Remus paused, collecting his thoughts, then gave a firm nod. Months upon months of research and discovery had led him here, to this very moment. No, he had made up his mind. He was sure…so sure…

"Yes. I'm going in."

As Lupin approached the menacing shape, more thoughts and memories entered his mind. He could hear the sounds of the battle and the screams of terror as if they were happening right now.

"_He can't come back, Harry. He can't come back because he's d-"_

"_SIRIUS! SIRIUS! HE – IS – NOT – DEAD! SIRIUS!"_

Lupin swallowed the lump in his throat and took a step forward, the veil feeling cool to the touch, an invisible breeze wafting through it as he felt himself enter the impossible space.

Maybe Harry had been right after all.

* * *

"May as well let it in," Harry grunted with a short sigh, withdrawing from the window. Ginny frowned but did as her former lover had suggested, lifting up the sliding window with ease. The cat merrily hopped in and trotted off straight into the kitchen.

"What's its name?" Ginny asked brightly as she joined Harry once more on the little sofa. Harry had been reaching for his cigarettes, but seemed to realize something and shook his head, putting them back. He linked his fingers together and tried not to fidget.

"Name?" Harry echoed with a bark of a laugh. "Um, _Kitty_, I guess."

Ginny laughed lightly. "You never were one for imagination, I suppose."

Harry smiled but then his nose furrowed in distaste as a peculiar scent made its way into his nostrils.

"What's that smell?" he asked of her, wafting a hand in front of his face. Ginny turned to look at the clock and smiled knowingly.

"Ah, 6 o' clock," she proclaimed. "Opening time for the takeaway downstairs."

"Doesn't that get annoying?" Harry questioned, wrinkling his eyes. The scent was so strong it stung a little – it was something hot, spicy.

"You get used to it," Ginny explained, then chuckled. "Dad loved it when I first moved in here, of course. All the muggle shops and muggle food, so nearby."

Harry looked at her intently. "How are your parents?"

"Oh, they're doing alright, you know," Ginny said, half-distractedly. "Considering. I go up to see them at the Burrow every other weekend."

Nodding slowly, Harry suddenly felt very guilty. It was bad enough that the Weasley's had lost Percy, even worse that it was one of their sons who had killed him. But despite the family's feelings, no one deep down had genuinely wanted to lose George. But also, they had lost Ron at a very young age.

"I can't help but feel," Harry began slowly, fidgeting and shifting about, "That's Ron's death was … was all my fault."

"Oh no, Harry, don't say that," Ginny soothed, reaching up fondly to push a chunk of black hair behind his ear. "Ron stayed by your side until the very end. It was what he felt he had to do, and you understood that. Not like me, eh?"

Harry smiled sadly and thought what an incredibly understanding person Ginny was. She'd always been lovely, beautiful, funny, intelligent … if only things had turned out differently for the pair. That could be his son or daughter now, in Ginny's stomach…it could be he who was living here with her, taking care of her.

"Listen, why don't I stay?" Harry offered kindly. "I don't want to think of you alone in this flat, not when it looks like the baby may be due any day now…"

"Thank you, I'd like that," Ginny said happily, and for the first time in over a year, she embraced Harry as she had done when they had been together, all those years ago.

From behind the pane of the open kitchen door, the white-blond cat with evil blue eyes was watching the couple intently.


	7. Cheer Up

**1 month ago…**

Inside his Azkaban cell, once proud teacher Severus Snape was huddled with his knees up to his chin, leaning his weight against the wall. The Dementor before him reached up to its hood, bringing it down with one graceful movement. It was then reveleaed that the Dementor was not a Demetor at all, but Lucius Malfoy.

"Oh," Snape grunted, unimpressed. "It's you."

The taller, more handsome man with the striking long blond hair linked his fingers together quietly and gazed down at the wreck of a man.

"You've served the Dark Lord and I most well, Severus," Lucius began in a soft but menacing tones. "You shall be greatly rewarded."

"I know you haven't snuck all the way in here just to tell me that drivel again, Lucius," Snape replied unappreciatively.

Lucius pressed his lips together. "Very well. I just thought that you might be interested to hear that the first stage of our plan has gone ahead."

This caught Snape's attention, and he very nearly leapt to his feet. Instead he gazed up at the more powerful man with great intent.

"You mean-" he blurted, but was interrupted with a short nod.

"Yes," Lucius said proudly, a wide smug across his face. "My son has escaped. He left just this morning, as I am to believe."

"At last!" Snape sighed with great relief. "Now I can stop this ridiculous charade!"

"Ah, not just yet, I'm afraid," Lucius corrected him, wagging a finger.

"What?" Snape snapped, his face falling back into despair.

"Draco has reached his target, as far as I know, but he has not begun acting on his intentions," Lucius explained as he slowly paced the floor of the cell. "For now, he must still believe that he is alone, and that you are a madman."

Snape didn't appear to be happy with this plan. "But Lucius, we have told him nothing about the seconding coming. What if he should-"

"We've been over this many a time, Severus," Lucius sighed impatiently. "Believe me, I know my son. He must carry on knowing what he knows, and nothing else."

"Very well," Snape sighed, brushing a hand through his lank black hair.

"Cheer up, Severus," Lucius said with cool sarcasm, putting up his hood to leave, the strong magic within the robe instantly making him look like a convincing Dementor. "The Reunion shall be taking place very soon."

"The Reunion," Snape nodded, mentally reminding himself. "Yes. That's the only thing that's keeping me going."

"I shall return within a few weeks," Lucius explained as he left the cell. "Hopefully with good news."

And Lucius disappeared out of sight, Snape silently watching him leave.

Remus Lupin was standing in an area of white nothingness. He didn't feel like he was floating, but when he looked down at his feet, there was no floor. Neither was there any shadow anywhere to hint that there were any kind of walls or doors in this … well, whatever it was.

Lupin apprehensively took a few steps forward and noticed that his footsteps made no sound. He took a few more steps forward but didn't appear to be going anywhere. This white space was so eerie it sent a shiver down his spine. How was it possible for something like this to even exist, a possibly endless space contained in that narrow arch? Even in the always surprising magic world, it was astounding.

_Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all_…Lupin thought with a gulp, and wiped his sweaty palms down his robes. He glanced over his shoulder but was horrified to see that the door, archway, bit of curtain, whatever it was – had disappeared.

"No!" he cried out desperately, hurrying over to where the door had been. He stuck out his hands and felt around, but there was nothing there. He was trapped in an infinite space of white and nothing else.

_Don't panic,_ he told himself. _Sirius is in here somewhere. Keep moving and you're bound to find him._

So Lupin began to walk.


End file.
